City of Love
by GentleReader
Summary: Maddie and David in Paris: will it rekindle their romance?  Or close the door on it forever? Co-written with beesnbears.   ***Epilogue Up!***
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own _Moonlighting_.

**Author's Note: **The episode "Perfetc," which ends with David inviting Maddie to accompany him to Paris, was supposed to be _Moonlighting_'s season five finale. Sadly, the show got the chop, and the writers were left scrambling to cobble together a **series** finale in only three episodes (with predictably disastrous results, IMO). The Paris trip was never mentioned again.

But my 'essed imagination has never stopped wondering what might've happened in the…

**City of Love**

**Chapter One**

_Air France Flight 1321, __LAX-CDG_

_What am I doing here?_ Maddie wondered.

Perhaps that was the wrong question. Obviously, no one in their right mind would turn down a first-class, all-expenses-paid trip to Paris.

_OK, then, _she thought,_ what are WE doing here?_

She looked across at David, eyes closed, blanket tucked around him in the generous leather seat. A half-smile suddenly shifted his relaxed features; Maddie waited for him to open one eye and make some crack about her staring at him…but then he rolled to the side and she heard a tiny snore. Guess he was just having a good dream.

In _her_ wildest dreams, she would never have pictured this: the two of them, flying to Europe together. Even in the throes of their topsy-turvy affair, she hadn't had visions of romantic getaways; and as far as she knew, neither had David. A trip to the all-night diner, sure. Bowling alley? Definitely. The Laundromat where they broke up held a kind of inevitability too, as though it had been waiting for them.

Truth be told, most of the time they'd been together, she hadn't wanted to venture more than a phone-cord's length from her bed. Or his. Not only because of the physical craving that fourteen hours in tangled sheets couldn't fully satisfy…but because she was uncomfortable being seen in public with David when they weren't on the job. She felt raw, exposed somehow, like everyone around them knew exactly what they had been doing—or planned on doing. (Or, at least on _her_ side, planned never to do again…and again…and again…)

No need to worry about _that_ anymore. She still loved David, and knew he still cared about her, but that indefinable, breathless, wrenchingly ecstatic intensity of being _in_ love had been shoveled over by complications and missed opportunities. Oh, there had been glimmerings of it here and there—Maddie thought of the pearls nestled in her suitcase—but lately, David's wry sarcasm had given way to a hard-edged cynicism. He sounded like a man who had lost his patience…and his faith, too.

As for her…well, it sounded cliché, but her heart shattered when the baby died. (That was the thing about clichés. So often, they turned out to be true.) She and David had looked at each other over the great gulf of their grief; bridging it seemed impossible…except once, very briefly, in a stuck elevator. So she trudged on alone, working, working, working, until the pain numbed a little. Blue Moon had saved her, once before; she kept on, hoping it still could.

Saved, maybe—but not healed. No, something essential—the need to connect, to share—was broken, or lost. To open herself up to David (or anyone) now…well, she just didn't have it in her. Sometimes she thought she might as well collect a few cats and a quilted bathrobe and call it a day.

So it felt bizarre to be winging over Greenland with her business partner-best friend-former lover-"pal." (God. No wonder David called their relationship a "car crash"—they needed more hyphens than a chemistry diagram to describe it.)

Maddie sighed and checked her watch. Five more hours, and they'd be relaxing in a limo on their way to one of the most romantic cities in the world. Typical of their timing, too: five hours…and only two years too late.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

Reviews are much appreciated...thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_En Route_

David watched Maddie gaze out of the limousine window as the graffitied outskirts of Paris slipped by.

_What are you thinking?_

A year ago, he could've asked, even if the question was clothed in sarcastic references to pennies or hamsters or overworked brain cells (actually, that last was more likely to come from her). Now, though, it would only expose the distance between them. He couldn't even guess what was going through her mind, and she had no reason to tell him. He held no claim to her thoughts.

(Even in the past, they hadn't made honesty a strict habit. Still, there was always some implicit acknowledgment that they revealed more to each other than anyone else.

It was still true, for him.)

When he thought about it-rarely, and unwillingly-he couldn't remember ever feeling as alone as he did now. He wasn't built for loneliness. Even his empty apartment chafed; some people might find it soothing: a place to gather their thoughts, recharge for the next day. Think...consider...contemplate.

Yeah, right.

He wasn't _physically_ alone that often. Bert was a near-constant presence, both during working hours and the endless stakeouts for the Anselmo case. Talk was plentiful, but actual conversation rare, as David had perfected the art of not hearing Bert's tales of cozy domesticity.

Then of course, he had his bowling night with the Harem Scarem Carpet Cleaners, a bunch of bluff, hearty guys who clapped him on the back and cheered him through three games...and then went home to their wives and children.

On other nights, David usually headed straight from the office to the First Mate, a dark North Hollywood dive that, inexplicably, tried for buccaneer authenticity, from the ship's wheel mounted on the wall to the tarnished brass rails around the tables. In truth, the most authentic thing about the place was the smell of stale beer rising from the stained carpet. But the drinks were cheap, the burgers stopped short of requiring a hospital visit, and the barman managed to keep the chat flowing without asking any real questions.

Plus, they had poker on Tuesdays.

Maybe the problem, then, wasn't his solitary life. It was that there wasn't a single bloody person on the planet he really looked forward to spending time with.

Except.

Why else had he invited her, after all?

Now...if only he could get her to talk.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **I'm sure you all thought this story was lost...buried...forgotten. It wasn't, but I had hit the deadly combination of writer's block and no time. Fortunately, my good friend **beesnbears** rode in on her white horse, pen in hand, and saved the day! (Three cheers for bees! :) This story will now be brought to you by the both of us...comments, questions, and suggestions are welcomed and can be PM'ed to either of us...or feel free to hit that review button!

Thanks for hanging in there.

**Chapter Three**

_Hotel du Frontenac_

"And these, monsieur?"

The bell captain gestured to four large boxes stacked beside Maddie's Louis Vuitton luggage. He was clearly well-trained in the idiosyncrasies of celebrity, and didn't bat an eye, though he couldn't restrain a small grunt as he hefted the first box onto a luggage cart.

"David!" Maddie whispered. "What in the world is in those?"

"Two cases of Calvin Klein's finest…and two more from my good friend Freddie."

It took a moment (must have been the jet lag), but then the penny dropped. Maddie raised an eyebrow. "They made you bring your own?"

"The Addison personal collection is far too valuable," David scoffed. "These are mere samples. And anyway, the theme of the piece is commonality—"

She wrinkled her nose. "_Common_ is right!"

David handed their passports to the desk clerk. "We can't all be art snobs, Ms. Hayes. As I was saying, the purpose of the 'Tour de Slip' is to demonstrate how, underneath the trappings of wealth, social status, even nationality, we all start from the same, uh, foundation."

Just as the bellman lifted the last box, an ominous riiiiiiip was heard. The tape sealing the box burst, and several sequined garter belts in a violent shade of fuschia spilled out onto the ground.

Maddie rolled her eyes as the bellman scrambled to retrieve the fallen lingerie. "I beg to differ, David. You wouldn't find _those _anywhere near my…'foundation'."

The ride up in the elevator was cramped with luggage and boxes. The bell captain apologized and suggested they take another, but by the time David had squeezed within a breath away from Maddie the doors closed.

"Your room is a beautiful suite monsieur, with a fabulous view of the city."

Maddie's antennae went up. "Room? Suite? Don't you mean _rooms_? We have-we should have _two_ rooms. David? Right? Two rooms?"

Her cheeks flushed as she heard the bell captain chuckle slightly, giving David a wink.

The doors opened. "Madame," gestured the bellman. Maddie slid out with as much grace as she could muster. "David, why is there only one-"

The cart lumbered out of the elevator, its cargo teetering. David emerged from behind a bulging box and gave it a firm push with one shoulder.

"Madame... Monsieur...right...this...way," the bellman grunted.

Maddie's heart raced as she tried to get a read on the situation unfolding. She didn't know whether this room thing was a mix-up or a set-up—with David, it could be either. More to the point, how was she going to handle it?

The suite _was_ stunning, full of comfortable, yet elegant furniture. A swish of the curtains revealed a breathtaking view down the Champs Elysées and across to the Eiffel Tower. David stood next to the large window, taking in the scenery as the bell captain finished his discourse of the fine amenities.

"Monsieur, may I open the chilled bottle of champagne waiting for you and madame?"

David eyed Maddie as she stood by the door, arms folded. He knew what she was thinking, that he had planned this whole thing…could practically hear her accusing him of luring her to Paris on false pretenses. Maybe...maybe two years ago he would have tried that, but not today. Hell, not even this year.

"Monsieur, that will not be necessary," Maddie seethed. "If you would be so kind as to reserve an additional room for tonight I would be much obliged."

"Apologies, madame. Le Frontenac is booked completely during your stay with us." He bowed slightly, casting a look David's way. "Monsieur, will there be anything else I may do for you?"

David reached into his pocket and handed him a generous tip. "Thanks, but not at the moment," he answered. By the looks of Maddie, he figured he should let the little man escape before the steam came out of her ears.

The door closed behind the bellman.

"Now Maddie-" he turned to her.

"David! How _could_ you?" She looked ready to erupt.

"Now hold on! I had nothing to do-"

"Oh? And I'm to just take your word for that? For all that it's worth? Ha!"

"Ha?"

"Yes! HA! I know better than that. I know YOU better than that, David Addison! I should have known that you couldn't just let this be nice...no complications, no _insinuations..._"

"Maddie, you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with this!"

A sticky, cracking sound erupted from the middle of the room as the Frederick's box stubbornly popped open again. A black, lacy, see-through bustier fell to the floor. Maddie eyed the little heap and all but growled. "Hope you enjoy sleeping on the couch!"

She stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door harder than he'd seen in the last year. And despite her adamant feelings about his honor, he couldn't helpbut smile as he shoved the second offender back into the overstuffed box. He could still feel the electric spark in the air from where she'd stood, blue eyes snapping, moments before; it hit him then-just how much he'd missed her.

At least he got her to talk.

And maybe, once they returned to Blue Moon, he'd have something to thank Agnes for...even if she _was_ sticking her nose in it again.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Hotel du Frontenac_

"WHAT am I doing here? What could I have been thinking? Paris...with David Addison? I should have KNOWN he'd try this!"

Maddie paced the bedroom, too angry to notice the picture window that showcased the same beautiful scenery David had been admiring earlier, the Eiffel Tower bathed in a sunset glow. She also didn't notice the huge mirror that reflected her flushed cheeks and tousled hair, as she ran the fingers of both hands through it in exasperation.

What she did notice, though, was the huge king-sized bed covered in a luxurious silk comforter and bountifully-frilled pillows. It stopped her in her tracks, causing a moment of hesitation in her personal rant covering the ten thousand ways David Addison liked to annoy her.

"No. Way. No way, no way, no way, so help me Addison! No way you are going to finagle or…or…play your games….to…to…no way," she shook her head, hands on her hips.

Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath and picked up one of the small round pillows, running her fingers over the satin ribbons. She plopped on the side of the bed, wondering why she ever agreed to travel across the world with the one person who had complicated her life exponentially over the last five years. One minute he could make her feel as though her life…_their_ lives were finally moving forward, with little or no arguing in the office over cases, no chastising over how she'd spent her weekends. And no slamming doors…

But the next minute she felt restless, the same sense of dissatisfaction that had presaged Sam's visit. If their lives _were_ moving forward, where exactly were they going? And were they even moving in the same direction?

Where did she _want_ to go, anyway?

Maddie opened the phonebook on the nightstand, found the listing for another hotel, and picked the receiver up on the telephone. She hesitated between punching the numbers and looked at the huge bed again.

"No way." She hit the last number, possibly a little harder than necessary. "Yes, I'd like to reserve a room for four nights—oh, yes, I'll hold." Picking the phone up, she stood by the window. The sun was sinking on the horizon; orange light spread through the room.

"Maddie?" David rapped at the door.

The hotel receptionist answered. "_Oui_, madame, you were saying four nights? We have a lovely room with….."

David knocked again. "Come on, Blondie. You can't stay in there forever."

"….shall I hold this for you, madame?" the clerk continued.

"Yes, please. I'll be checking in—oh, yes, I can hold. Again!"

"Maaadddiiieeee," David sang.

"So, I have you for four nights. Might I have a name?"

"I promise I didn't screw up the reservations! Can't you at least open the door and let me try to explain?" He jiggled the doorknob, making her jump. "Or are you going to be bullheaded the rest of the time we're here?"

She turned her back on the door.

"Madame, your name?" the clerk asked again.

"It's Maddie. Maddie—"

"Fine! Good! Sit in there as long as you want. I'm hungry and jet lagged and I'm not going to keep having this one-sided conversation. So whatever it is you think…you're just going to have to keep on thinking it!"

"_Pardonnez-moi_, Madame, could you repeat that please? Oh, my apologies, please hold again."

Maddie waited for the retreating footsteps...for the SLAM! of the front door. They didn't come. After a moment, she pushed the receiver button down and set the phone back on the nightstand.

David stood by the window, one hand propped against the glass. In his other hand, he tossed a small ceramic figurine, one of several that dotted the end tables, as though contemplating the satisfaction of shattering it with a well-aimed throw.

Maddie watched him from the doorway until he turned.

"So?" She crossed her arms.

"Sooo…" he answered, setting the figurine down.

"You still get the couch."

And a smile slowly crept across his face.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Place de la Concorde_

"Monsieur Davide! Monsieur!" The hand on David's sleeve grew insistent.

He pulled himself back from thoughts of last night: a small bistro, tucked into a warren of stone-faced buildings, balconies gleaming in the streetlights. Tiny cloth-covered tables lit by a single candle, and an unobtrusive waiter who glided back and forth with a seemingly endless parade of tiny dishes and a powerful red wine.

And Maddie, across from him, her blonde waves shimmering, eyes a soundless blue. Maddie, who didn't check into another hotel, who had forgiven him the room mix-up (not that he had done anything to forgive), who seemed softer, more relaxed than she had been in months.

He reached across and took her hand. Her cornflower gaze swept past him, over his shoulder-her mouth opened, in shock or fright, he couldn't tell-she yanked her hand away, and the tumbler of wine spilled a bright red river on the tablecloth, taking the moment along with it.

"Maddie? What is it?" But she was gone, closed off, her lips pressed into a straight line. He looked back-there was nothing to distinguish in the flow of passers-by.

What the hell?

He sputtered as a misdirected wave of spray starch hit him in the face. "Ugh! Jean-Paul-watch the hair!"

The small man in the black beret reached up to mop at him with an unstarched pair of briefs. "Je m'excuse, m'sieur! Mais, seulement, where did you want this piece?" Jean-Paul held up a stiff red lace brassiere, its straps held rigidly as on invisible shoulders. "Peut-être, ici?" He pointed to a spot midway up the metal skeleton that served as a base for the Tour de Slip.

"Yeah," David muttered distractedly. "No, wait! A little to the left! OK."

The tower had, so far, gone up without incident. An artful arrangement of Calvin's finest stretched around the square structure, echoing the shape of the Egyptian obelisk behind it. Jean-Paul was just beginning to add the ladies' lingerie, stringing it like Christmas ornaments from the Y-fronts of the briefs. David was saving the fuschia sequined garter belts for the top, where they would (hopefully) flutter in the breeze like pennants.

A limousine pulled up to the Place, and a procession of long, stockinged legs emerged, ending in stiletto heels. The models sauntered over to David, their short silk robes flapping slightly as they circled him, posing for his approval. He barely had time to react to their presence before they were stripping off the robes to reveal leopard-print bustiers trimmed in black lace.

"Miaow...just watch your claws on the back, ladies!" he grinned. Three of the women rolled their eyes in ennui, but the fourth, who looked younger, sparkled in response to his smirk.

"Est-ce à votre goût, Monsieur?" The young model fluttered her lashes at him.

David's look of incomprehension brought Jean-Paul to his side. "She asks, is thees to your taste?"

He looked the women up and down. "Oh, yeah, I could make a fine meal out of that!"

"Je pense que c'est plus que tu peux manger!" Maddie's voice rang out behind him, and the girls dissolved into giggles.

David cocked one eyebrow at Jean-Paul, who seemed reluctant to translate. "Uh...madame says thees is more than you can e-"

"Yeah, yeah, J.P.-no comments from the peanut gallery," David ordered sternly.

"Monsieur Addison!" A tall man, camera slung around his neck, approached their group, followed by a trio of assistants carrying large silver umbrellas and heavy-looking cases.

"Georges Meclan, _Maintenant!_ magazine. Are you ready for the photographs, Monsieur?" The man's dark eyes traveled over the cluster of women and the models preened, rolling bare shoulders. When he got to Maddie, his gaze widened in surprise and a slow smile crept across his face.

"Mademoiselle Hayes! What an unexpected pleasure!" He made as if to take her hand, but Maddie stepped back.

"Georges," she acknowledged coolly.

David looked from one to the other. _Something_ was clearly off. Just as he was about to comment, however, Jean-Paul dragged him away to put the finishing touches on the tower. Finally, the lighting equipment was set up, the camera on its stand, and the models in place.

"Maddie, what do you think-" He turned to her, but she was gone-across the traffic circle, walking toward the gate that led into the Jardin de Tuileries. The photographer stood looking after her, his weathered but handsome face unreadable.

"Yo, George!" David called. "_That_ one's not in the picture."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_La Basilique du Sacre-Coeur_

Filmy white clouds scuttered across the bright blue sky; the slight breeze held the promise of winter. The girl shivered slightly, even through her tufted fur coat, and hoped her nose wasn't glowing Rudolph red.

"Allez!" called a voice. High ponytail swinging, the girl stepped carefully down the steep stone stairs. At the landing she paused, swishing her coat so it belled out around her.

_Click! Click! Click!_

"Excellente!" The man's long fingers roamed over the camera, expertly adjusting lens, aperture, shutter speed. He favored her with an encouraging smile. "Encore une fois, cherie. Ici—comme ça—"head high, expression proud—"Vous êtes une princesse, n'est-ce pas?"

The girl hesitated. "Um…oui?"

"Non, ma petite." Coming closer, he lifted her gloved fingers to his lips and said softly, "Une _vrai_ princesse."

A true princess. He certainly made her feel that way, ordering their small entourage (dresser, makeup person, camera assistant, even the agency representative) to minister to her comfort, make sure she wasn't cold, or hungry, or itchy. It was only the second day of the shoot, but she already felt as though she could rely on him, could trust him to take care of her. It made sense, she guessed; after all, a happy model made for a quicker shoot, and an easier job for everyone. And yet…she was fairly new to the business, but experienced enough to know that most of the time, photographers—particularly the famous ones—treated models with no more consideration than mannequins.

Besides, there was something in his dark eyes when he looked at her—a kind of focus, or connection, as though he recognized her. It gave her the confidence to toss her head back and glide down the stairs, fashion royalty to her very toes.

Some time later, he called out, "Finis!" Various assistants scurried to take down the lighting equipment and pack up the tripod. The dresser quickly stripped the fur coat from the girl's shoulders, replacing it with a rather weatherbeaten trench.

She had turned to climb aboard the nondescript black van that served as both transport and dressing room when someone spun her around. "Excellent work, ma petite. The clothes…the sky…Sacre-Coeur—ce sera magnifique, eh?" He embraced her, quickly, and bent to kiss her cheeks. Perhaps his aim was off, or perhaps she turned her head, but the second kiss caught the corner of her mouth.

He looked as surprised as she felt, and then laughed, running a thumb along her lower lip. "Come, ma chère Madeleine…tonight, we celebrate! Paris awaits its newest star!"

Before she could think twice, she found herself in the leather seat of his Alfa Romeo. Georges pulled her to him, and his mouth covered hers again. As they sped through the tiny streets of Montmartre, she rolled down the window; a cool stream of air rushed by, carrying the tiny prickle of her hesitation along with it.

-0-0-0-

_Le Jardin des Tuileries_

David scanned the wide plaza at the park's entrance. No sign of Maddie among the crowd lining the octagonal pool at its center—mostly children, screaming with delight as the sailboats they pushed caught the breeze.

He continued down the broad allée, looking to the left and right. She could be anywhere by now; the shoot had taken over an hour. He had to hand it to Georges Meclan, though—he knew just what to say, when to coax, when to demand, to get what he wanted out of his models. Hell, he had even managed to convince David to pose with the girls, wearing a silk leopard-print robe…which David was fairly sure he was going to regret, especially if the photo made it back to L.A.

Yes, Georges had charm, that was for sure. But what was the deal between him and Maddie? They were obviously already acquainted. Maddie had offered to go to the agency early that morning to confirm the models' assignment and fees; perhaps she had met him there. The bigger mystery was why she had given the photographer the deep-freeze treatment—David hadn't seen Arctic Hayes make an appearance in awhile.

There was only one way to find out, of course, and that was to find Maddie. In the distance, the afternoon sun bounced off the new glass-and-steel pyramid that formed the entrance to the Louvre…could she be wandering amongst the priceless paintings? If so, he'd never find her; he might as well head back to the hotel.

But it was a beautiful day, and he _was _thirsty. Ducking into the Café Very, he found an unoccupied table on the back patio. The Heineken came quickly, thank God, and was downed in short order. He was just considering another when he looked across to the playground, separated from the café by a narrow path.

Funny how certain things crossed borders and cultures, he thought. The scene could easily have been set in Brentwood or West Hollywood, instead of Paris: the throng of climbing, sliding, whirling children…the groups of well-dressed mothers, chatting and doling out snacks…the uniformed nannies dotted here and there, holding juice boxes or wiping chins.

And behind them, sitting on a stone bench like a too-vivid figure in the background of a painting: Maddie. A tiny pang hit his chest. She could so easily be mistaken for the mother of the miniature blonde with the corkscrew curls, twirling in front of the tulip beds.

"Not sure exactly what the rate of exchange is, but how 'bout a franc for your thoughts?" he asked, flipping a coin in his hand.

She startled, drawing herself back from whatever mental avenue she was wandering. "Oh—David—is the shoot over? How did you know—"

"Hey, I'm a state of the art machine—come fully equipped with MADAR."

"Too bad you don't come fully equipped with a decent joke," she responded, but he caught the hint of a twinkle in her eye.

They sat for awhile, enjoying the late-afternoon warmth and the laughter of children, until he felt like he could broach the topic. "So, Blondie, seemed like you weren't too fond of Georgie-boy back there. What's the matter—he try and show you his black-and-whites at the agency this morning?"

Maddie pushed her fingers through her hair. "I knew _Monsieur_ _Meclan_—"her tone was not flattering—"a long time ago. I was just surprised to see him, that's all."

Clearly, that was _not_ all. David was weighing the advisability of pressing the subject when their attention was caught by an overall-clad toddler, chasing a butterfly down the path as fast as his chubby legs would carry him. Maddie smiled. David looked on and then turned back to her, hoping she would offer up the rest of the story.

"David, he photographed a print campaign I did here many years ago. By the end of the project I had spent eight weeks in Montmartre and was very ready to go home—it wasn't as glamorous as you might think." She watched the little boy scurry past them again. The butterfly lit on the upper bowl of a fountain nearby; not to be denied, his pursuer clambered onto the tiled surround and stretched his little arms up.

"Well, Meclan sure seemed to have some very fond memories—"

"David!" Maddie leaped from the bench.

_Splash!_

David was on his feet and running before he even realized it, passing Maddie as she frantically searched for the child's mother. The fountain wasn't particularly deep, but the child was frightened by his impromptu ducking. He couldn't seem to find his footing, and had gone under twice by the time David waded in and scooped him out.

He sat down quickly with the boy on his lap, shaking water from one drenched pant leg to a chorus of coughs and wails.

"Poor thing—it's all right," Maddie soothed, getting down to the toddler's level. He stopped crying for the moment, and patted her nose. "Jolie," he pronounced.

"Oh! Monsieur! Merci—merci mille fois!" The boy was hoisted out of David's arms by a petite brunette. She settled him on her hip, murmuring, "Shhh, mon petit…shhhh, Nicolas…c'est Jeanette…je suis ici…"

David stood over the woman, doing his best to reign in a sudden, heart-pounding fury. "Lady, you should really be more careful," he growled. " There's all kinds of things that could happen—"

"David—"

"Maddie, she wasn't paying attention—"

"David, it was an accident, he's okay," Maddie interrupted.

"Oui, un accident," the girl agreed. She put one small hand on David's damp sleeve. "Oui, monsieur, je m'excuse, je suis desolée—"

David removed the hand and bit out, "Next time, try less gossip and more supervision!"

The girl's arms tightened around her charge and she took a step back, clearly miffed. "Oui. D'accord. Merci!" She hurried back in the direction of the playground while Nicolas waved at them over her shoulder.

"You did a good thing, Addison," Maddie said softly.

His instinct was to brush it off, make a joke-anything to fill the sudden hollow in his gut. But her quiet voice went on.

"It was an accident. It just happened so fast."

"Yes, it _was_….and it did."

The double meaning of their words was not lost on him. A stray curl blew across Maddie's face; he ached to smooth it away, to smooth away the grief in her glistening eyes.

They stayed long enough to see Nicolas fully recovered, chasing a little red ball under the now-watchful eye of his nanny. "So…finished for the day with the lingerie harem?" Maddie asked wryly as they turned to go.

David rubbed the back of his neck. "Not exactly. Apparently, there's a 'Tour de Slip' party tonight at some chichi club. Just a publicity thing—I'm supposed to make nice with the press hounds. Think I'm gonna have to change first, though." He cocked a wet elbow in Maddie's direction. "Yo, Blondie—you're coming with me, right?"

She rolled her eyes, but slipped her arm through his. "As if I have a choice."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Reviews are much appreciated...thanks!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Le Palace Nightclub_

Blue and red spotlights chased each other, illuminating the motley crowd hanging over the balcony rails. One could, apparently, see _anyone_ here, from European aristocracy (wasn't that Princess Michael, decked out in white leather?) to aging rock royalty (there was Keith Richards, in a ripped muscle t-shirt).

All in all, it was, Maddie supposed, an appropriate venue to honor a man who'd made art out of underwear. And everyone seemed to be having a good time: Georges Meclan stood at one end of the neon-encased bar, sipping a rose-tinted martini while he chatted up the youngest of the lingerie models; Jean-Paul, David's erstwhile assistant, shimmied on the dance floor with the Tour de Slip's public relations representative. As Maddie watched, the spotlights merged, bathing their faces in a purple glow.

And David? David held court in one of the red velvet booths, dispensing _bon mots_ to a small crowd of entertainment reporters. Dressed in a natty black suit, with a black shirt, slim silver tie, and very dark sunglasses (an outfit pressed on him by the PR ingenue), she thought he looked like a hit man, or perhaps a debauched record producer...though she couldn't deny the rakish look suited him.

Maddie herself was rather regretting the impulsive purchase she'd made that afternoon. Warned by David that Le Palace was extremely fashion-forward (and, just perhaps, loathing to look dowdy next to the pubescent lingerie girls), she had run into a boutique around the corner from the Frontenac. In tongue-in-cheek tribute to David, she had chosen a white and black leopard-print taffeta blouse with a deep V-neck, cinched tightly over a skirt several inches shorter than what she usually wore. The salesgirl obligingly found a pair of black pumps with a cunning leopard-print bow to match.

When she'd stepped out of the hotel bedroom in this getup, her makeup smoky, hair blown into loose curls, the effect on David had been highly gratifying. His trademark smirk vanished, though he confined himself to a simple, "Damn, Blondie" by way of compliment.

Now, however, after standing for the better part of an hour, the taffeta was chafing her neck and the pumps-several inches _higher_ than her serviceable work shoes-were compressing her toes in the manner of Chinese foot binding. She thought longingly of the white Reeboks back in the hotel closet, and checked her watch: how long until she and David could make their excuses and leave?

"Ma _chère_ Mademoiselle Hayes," Georges Meclan smiled into her eyes. "Your glass is empty. Permettez-moi?" He caught the attention of the bartender, and was pressing a fresh flute of champagne into her hand before she could protest.

"May I say how exquisite you look tonight, ma chère. You put these bébés"-with a gesture toward the dancing models-"to shame."

"How kind," Maddie replied frostily, taking a sip. "It looked like the 'bébés' were working awfully hard for you today."

Georges leaned on the bar. "Ah, oui-they are good girls, of course. It is only that they cannot compare to a woman of more...expérience."

"Ha! Remember, Monsieur, I was once one of those inexperienced girls." Her gaze hardened. "And as I recall, that served your purposes very well." Swallowing the rest of her champagne, she set down the glass with a loud _clink_. The bubbles burned in her throat.

"Come now, Madeleine, let us not argue about the past." He ran one finger down her cheek, and she slapped it away instantly; he looked regretful, but not particularly chastened. "I see you do not want to...how do you say it?...walk down the memory lane."

His intimate stance, the way he said her name, dredged up memories she had long since buried...and with them came a deep well of anger. She willed herself to be civil, for David's sake. But the insolent glint in his eyes was too much.

"You took advantage of me," she bit out. "I _trusted_ you, and you humiliated me-"

"You _were_ most deliciously naive, my dear. But you must believe-I regretted the necessity most extremely...the agency was proving uncooperative..."

A fresh glass had once again materialized, and Maddie dashed its contents full into Meclan's face. "Bastard!" she exclaimed, and stalked away.

She had only gone two steps when Meclan grabbed her elbow. "Prudence, chérie! Monsieur Addison might find the pictures...unsettling, eh?"

Maddie's throat went dry. "What are you saying? The negatives-you sold them to the agency...they shredded them..."

He laughed-and an uglier sound she had seldom heard. "Still so naive, Madeleine? Don't you know, ma petite? A good photographer _never_ destroys his negatives." With a malevolent smile, he turned and melted back into the crowd.

The pounding pop music and flashing lights assaulted her along with the unwelcome scenes from her past. She needed to go-_now_. Without a thought for David-without a coherent thought, period-she snatched her purse and fled into the night.

-0-0-0-

"Sobriety is overrated."

Maddie was sure David had said that to her, sometime in the last few years. Given the number of times she'd found him hanging on the back of a door, or passed out in her back seat, she supposed he believed it.

She nudged the empty wine bottle with one stockinged toe. For her, getting drunk usually didn't work out so well. Rather than dulling the pain, it just seemed to bring it into clearer focus. The last time she'd tried it, the misery of a life without Blue Moon unspooled before her with such terrifying urgency that she hadn't drank much since.

Tonight, though, she'd been pushed beyond her limits. Meclan-gutter-dragging slime that he was-managed to make her feel eighteen again...and _not_ in a good way. Horrified, humiliated, helpless: that about covered it.

Then there was the Jardin. Maddie didn't know why she had even stopped at the little park; in the last ten months, she had become adept at avoiding children, particularly in large numbers. And each month, on that awful anniversary (she couldn't think of it as a birthday), she pursued distraction single-mindedly, shoving away any thought of what he would look like, or be doing, at this age.

So she couldn't say what had led her to that bench. Surprisingly, she'd found a kind of peace there, in the hazy afternoon. At one point, though, a ray of sun had escaped its cloud cover, cutting through the trees and shining full on her face. Through the glare, the whole playground suddenly appeared dark...ghostly...taken over by the shades of little lost souls who would never run or climb or shout.

Maddie curled herself into a ball at the memory of it, heedless of the tears slipping onto the couch pillows.

She had spent a week like this, a cold lump in the bed, wrapping herself around the howling emptiness inside her. Then the doctor said she could "get back to normal," and God knew she'd tried...with a vengeance.

It hadn't worked-not really-but at least it gave her the illusion of being in control, of being her old self. Now the yawning chasm had opened again, and no amount of Sauvignon Blanc was going to fill it.

Nothing could stem the relentless tide of loneliness-not one thing. But an image of David, standing in the fountain with Nicolas in his arms, floated through her mind...

The old-fashioned key rattled in the lock.

Maddie stood up. The floor tilted alarmingly, but she managed to stagger across it as David came through the door.

"Maddie, where the hell-"

She grabbed his lapels, his words lost as she kissed him hungrily, again and again and again. His arms went around her, strong and sure. She was liquid, weightless...and a way out of the pain opened up.

"David, let's make a baby. Let's go back to the way things were," she slurred.

"Wait-what?" He looked shocked-it felt good to shock him. His tie slipped off, and she started working on the buttons of his shirt. Sliding her arms up his bare back, she pulled him in for another kiss.

He groaned, but drew back. "Maddie, hang on."

"I am hanging on David…for dear life..." she sighed into his neck. "Can't you tell?" Her fingers traced his hairline, and she felt him shiver. "Don't you want this?"

"Yes…yes I do," he said softly. He captured her roving hands, holding them to his chest.

"Then let's stop talking."

She took a step away from him, unfastened her blouse, and let it fall to the floor.

He was fighting for control; she could see him swallow. "Let go!" she wanted to say-then laughed...how many times had he said that to _her_? Well, she _was_ letting go...of the grief, the hurt, the space between them...

Her skirt pooled around her feet; stepping out of it clumsily, she twirled it around and tossed it at David, hitting him square in the face. She laughed again at his bemused expression. She had never seen him at such a loss!

"Maddie, I don't know-"

"Don't you? Then let me help-" Unfastening his belt, she pulled him toward the bedroom. When he stopped, she turned around, pressing herself against him, kissing him until his eyes glazed over and she knew he would follow her anywhere.

She lay back on the bed, holding her arms out to him. Sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, he lifted one hand to his cheek. "Blondie..."

The room spun slightly, and she tried to sit up. The wine was catching up with her...the memories, past and present, that had chased through her head earlier became jumbled and indistinct.

"Did I ever tell you? …of course I told you..." The words came out thickly. "You would have been a great dad, David." She was tossing pillows to the floor, trying to clear enough space for them both. One of them hit the bedside lamp and it fell with a crash to the floor; David had to dodge another to avoid a mouthful of lace and ribbons. "Oops…" she giggled.

He pulled the silk comforter down. The sheets felt cool against her bare skin. She grabbed at the edges of his shirt; he stumbled a little and landed on top of her, nose to nose.

"Now…where were we?" she whispered, twining her arms around his neck. "Let's make babies, David, lots and lots of cute little babies. It's all we really needed, right? To fix what was wrong with us all along… To start out with a little threesome and see how big we could make it grow?" Tears suddenly pooled in her eyes. "I mean, where does it say we aren't allowed to be happy for once?"

David sat up on one elbow, his thumb brushing across her cheek. The words came spilling out, more than she had ever told him, and she couldn't stop. "Where does it say that, David? I mean, we already have that bond between us, don't we? At least, I thought we did…like two people having a baby together, I mean…have we lost that too? Because I couldn't stand it knowing we'd lost that."

Now his cheeks were wet, too; his voice came hoarsely. "Oh, honey...whether we had a little bundle ten months ago or not, nothing could take away what we had. It's something that's ours forever…the good," he kissed her softly, "…and even the bad."

The exhaustion came suddenly, a great wave drawing her under. "David...I really wanted it…really wanted him..." she mumbled, resisting the overwhelming urge to close her eyes. She focused on his face, the same way she had in the hospital. He had been her lifeline in that moment-how could she have forgotten?

His arm slid under her, pillowing her head on his chest. "I did, too, Maddie...I did, too."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N:** We've taken a little artistic license with the timeline between the loss of the baby and this Paris trip. If you go by episode air dates, it was only about four months...but Maddie would've been pregnant for 18 months!

Reviews appreciated as always...


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Hotel Frontenac_

Stretching carefully, David edged over to the side of the bed. Maddie groaned a little, but then settled back into sleep. _For the best_, he thought. She was going to feel pretty rough when she finally did wake up.

She might not _feel_ good, but she still _looked_ amazing: the strap of her chemise slipping down one creamy shoulder, blond curls trailing on the pillow.

"Don't you want this?" she'd asked him, the night before.

Oh, he wanted it all right - wanted _her_ so badly his knees nearly buckled. After the first shock of finding her in his arms, his body took over, leaping ahead several steps to a vision of them christening the massive bed. For a minute, it was all sensation: her fingers sliding though his hair, the enticing feel of her hips through the tight skirt, the taste of her kisses, the long-lost yet so-familiar brush of her cheek against his.

"Jesus," he breathed, looking down into her face. Her eyes were cloudy. Over her shoulder, he watched an empty wine bottle clatter to the floor.

"David, let's make a baby…"

His thoughts halted with a screech that he was convinced, at first, must be audible. A baby? Surely she wasn't serious…

_Of course she's not serious, Dave—she's three sheets to the wind. _ And he knew he had to stop.

It wasn't only that she'd had more to drink than was compatible with his personal moral code on seduction. (Yes, he _did_ have one.) No, the bigger issue was that everything between them was so undefined. Once upon a time, it would've been balmy in Nome before he insisted on knowing where the relationship was going. But now - God - if she woke up tomorrow, wrapped in a sheet with that _look_ on her face...the one that said, "This was all a mistake"...he couldn't take it. And neither, he thought, could she.

For both their sakes, it was better to be safe than shattered. Even if it meant shutting down every last electrified nerve ending.

So he'd tucked her into bed, where the pain of the last months spilled out. It was bittersweet to realize that they had, all this time, been floundering in the same grief and loneliness…to grasp that they had each cut themselves off from the one person who could understand best. It might be too little, too late, now…but he had held her, soothed her, mingled his tears with hers. And through it all images from that day replayed in his mind.

It had been, at first, a great party. With the help of the Wobblies, Agnes had outdone herself. Everything was just right: the restaurant, the music, the flowers. He felt proud of them all, that they would honor Maddie this way, and proud too of her, accepting their gesture so graciously. He had never seen her so much at ease with the staff before, smiling, joking, _enjoying_.

Dancing with her, he made a resolution: he wanted to move their relationship forward. They had taken some small steps in that direction, in their weekly Lamaze "dates"; he helped her shop for the baby, too. But David wanted to be more than a coach or crib consultant. He wanted to be a _father_. He would talk to her about it later that night, he decided. Settled in front of a fire, giving Maddie his foot massage extraordinaire, he would make his case.

And then she had doubled over in his arms, and all his modern happy-family fantasies were blown apart.

If he had ever questioned how badly he wanted Maddie in his life, he got his answer sitting next to her in the ambulance. Her beautiful face rigid with pain, she clutched his hand, the contractions coming fast—too fast.

He could hear the paramedic talking on the radio. David had no idea what "placental abruption" was, but it didn't take any medical training to know that the spreading crimson stain on the gurney meant catastrophe. He was scared, quite literally, out of his wits, unable to do more for Maddie than repeat the well-intentioned lies people used in these situations: "You're doing fine…it's gonna be OK…"

Inside his head ran an incoherent prayer: "Please…please…you do what you gotta do, God, but _please_ save this woman. I'll take care of her, I promise."

Well, God had kept _His_ end of the bargain. Now if Maddie would just give him a chance, maybe he could do the same.

-0-0-0-

"Oooowwwww…"

David stood in the doorway. Head in hands, Maddie was attempting to sit up; she only made it halfway before flopping back down with another groan.

"Maddie, I didn't think you had it in you." He handed her a yellow concoction.

"What _is_ this?"

"My specialty…hair of the dog."

"Funny. That's what my mouth tastes like right now." She took a careful sip, made a face, and then looked down. "Daaaviiid…where are my clothes?"

He shrugged. In spite of the emotional upheaval of the last eight hours, he was enjoying the spectacle of Morning-After Maddie. "Still hanging from the lampshade, I guess."

"Oh, God." Putting a hand to her forehead, she closed her eyes and asked tentatively, "Did what I think happened…happen?"

"Depends on what you think happened."

She sat up again—fully this time—her cheeks flushing with anger. Looked like the Addison Antidote was working. "Don't play with me, David. Did I—did we—"

One hand propped on the bedpost, he was careful to stay out of splashing range. "Nah, Blondie, we didn't. I think if you look, you'll find all the—" he gestured to her lower half—"_essentials_ in place."

"Phew," she breathed, leaning back on the pillows.

"Gee, Maddie, way to get a guy where it hurts." She rolled her eyes at him, then winced; he bit back a laugh. "So, you gonna tell me what happened to you last night? I was looking all over the place—thought maybe Boris Becker had you in his booth."

Her face shuttered. Was she remembering what she'd said to him? He decided not to push it, for the moment. "No…I—I just had to go…do you mind? I'd like to take a shower."

Where had he heard that before? "Yeah, OK. Meet you by the couch for some breakfast?"

"Sure."

He pulled the door shut behind him, leaning back against it for just a moment. Then he went to call room service.

-0-0-0-

David studied the coffee press in some confusion, lifting the plunger delicately.

"Here, let me." Maddie appeared at the table, looking refreshed—looking damn gorgeous, matter of fact—in a pink sweater and slacks.

She poured them each a steaming cup, inhaled the rich aroma, and sighed.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Approaching human," she answered wryly.

They made light conversation, addressing themselves mostly to the omelette and pastries that David had ordered. It was so quiet that they both jumped when the phone rang, the distinctive double bell echoing through the room.

David got up to answer it. "Hangover Hotline. You indulge, we divulge...you do the drinking, let us do the-"

"Monsieur Addison? Georges Meclan."

"George! Recovered from last night?"

Meclan chuckled, a long, low rumble. "Ah, oui, M'sieur. It was…shall we say…a night to remember."

"A good time was had by all, eh?" David turned back to Maddie, rolling his eyes. She had gone very still, a piece of brioche arrested halfway to her mouth. As he watched, she crushed the bit of bread in her fist, stood up, and left the room.

He realized he'd lost the thread of the conversation.

"Would that suit you, Davide? To view les photos?"

"Wait—when?"

"A demain…tomorrow."

"Yeah—great—" said David, who only wanted to be off the phone. He put down the receiver, and went into the bedroom.

She stood by the picture window, sun streaming over her. It glinted off the rooftops and shimmered on the Seine, but she didn't seem to see any of it.

He came up, quietly, beside her. "Hey…" His voice was as soft as his footsteps. "Want to tell me what that was about?"

"Not really." Then: "He's a bastard."

"Maddie—"

She wouldn't look at him, but her words came out in a rush. "When I was here—modeling—all those years ago…I was—involved—with him."

"Huh. French fashion photographer…knew I'd left one off the list."

Her glare could've peeled the paint off the wall behind him. "Sorry. I take it, it didn't end well?"

"Ha!" she laughed bitterly. "You could say that."

"Must've been a hell of a shock to find him at the shoot the other day."

Maddie ran a hand through her curls. "No, it wasn't. I knew he was here. I saw him—remember, that little bistro, our first night here? When I spilled the wine? He was walking by—I recognized him right away."

"Hasn't changed much, then?"

"About as much as a leopard and his spots. Anyway, when I went to the modeling agency the next morning, the representative rambled on about how 'lucky' we were to have the great Georges Meclan photograph your tower. Lucky...right..._worse_ luck would be pretty hard to find!"

Tentatively, David put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Blondie. If I'd known…well, anyway, you don't have to see him again. I can go look at the photos myself."

She broke his attempted embrace. "WHAT?"

"The photos—of the tower," he explained, bewildered.

"Oh, God." Sinking down on the velvet chaise longue, Maddie put her head in her hands. He knelt down in front of her, rubbing one knee lightly.

"Maddie—c'mon. Tell me what's going on."

"He has—pictures—of me. Pictures I wouldn't want _anyone_ to see."

This was so surreal his mind almost couldn't process it, throwing out snapshots of Maddie in a false beard—or a clown suit—with a parrot on her head. But she went on, now pacing back and forth across the cream pile carpeting.

"We had been at a fancy party, given by the editor of _Paris Match_. Champagne fountains, massive ice sculptures, lots of high rollers on the fashion scene…I was so flattered to be on Georges' arm. We finally came back to his place early that morning…he—he told me he was proud of me, that he loved me. He said he was tired of taking pictures of me dressed up like a doll, pictures that were for other people…he wanted to take some—just for _us_. I thought it was so romantic. So I let him."

The shock must have shown on his face; Maddie said quickly, "They weren't…explicit, David. But they were suggestive enough that he was able to use them to blackmail the agency that hired me into doubling his fee."

Christ! It was no wonder she had trouble letting people get close to her, with SOBs like this as a yardstick. Sawyer and Mr. "Took-Away-My-No" were angels in comparison.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

Maddie stopped her pacing. "The senior partner told me they didn't need any of 'their girls' involved in a scandal. They paid out my contract and booked me a flight to Chicago. I had to tell my parents that we finished the shoot a week ahead of schedule."

The thought of her lying to her parents tipped David over the edge. With difficulty, he restrained himself from putting his fist through the gilt-edge mirror over the bureau, picturing Meclan's face in the middle of it. A several hundred-dollar damage fee wouldn't help Maddie at the moment.

"Right," he declared. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a long-overdue beating to administer. How do you say 'kick your ass' in French?"

She grabbed his sleeve. "No—David—wait! Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to see him beg for mercy…but he still has them—the negatives. I thought the agency had destroyed them, but he kept another copy."

"How do you know?"

"He told me, last night." Suddenly, Maddie's disappearance from Le Palace, and her subsequent bender, made a lot more sense.

"In that case," he said, offering her his arm, "we have a spot of breaking-and-entering to plan." Maybe there would be more satisfaction in outwitting this pervert than breaking every last bone in his smarmy body…though David doubted it.

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_17 Rue des Saints Peres  
__Saint Germain, Paris_

A slow steady rain left little puddles along the stone pathway. Maddie and David squinted up at the seven-foot high window as the tiny streetlights illuminated the raindrops hitting their faces.

"Maddie, are you sure this is the place?" David whispered.

"Oh, this is the place alright," she shivered. She remembered all too well the evenings she had spent there, sharing a bottle of wine with Meclan, perusing photo shots as he gushed over her beauty and meteoric rise to fame. Remembered, too, his breathy sighs that final night: "Tres belle, cherie. Si belle, si naturelle...I will cherish these, Madeleine...seulement pour moi..."

And she had believed him.

"Well, it looks like Georgie Boy is out for the evening. But to be sure, we better take a peek," he turned, motioning for her to take a leg up.

"You want me to look through the window? David, what if he's home? "

"Which is why you need to climb on up here and make like a Peeping Pattie—"

"David…"

"Nosy Rosie? Lurking Lucy?"

"Just shut up, boost me up and make sure we both don't land bottoms up in a puddle."

"You got it," he said, clasping his hands together. "Though you, bottoms up…that's quite a picture there…"

Maddie rolled her eyes and planted a foot into David's hands.

"Okay, steady now, here ya' go."

"David, slow down for Pete's sake!"

"That's not what you were saying last night," he quipped, his face buried in her right thigh.

"Okay, stop!" she breathed, hanging on to the windowsill and peering inside. "It's dark - I can't see a thing."

"Shine your flashlight," he grunted.

Maddie pulled the small flashlight from the pocket of her black rain jacket, flipped it on and held it to the window.

"What do you see?"

There were pictures lining the walls of various models from past and present, as well as several more sitting on the large decorative desk. Those appeared to be family members, though she wasn't certain. She trailed the light and peered through the open door where the only thing she could see was a small lamp sitting on a table in the hallway.

"Let me down, David."

"What?"

"Let me down!"

She slid through his arms and landed nose to nose, his face wet from the rain.

"So Little Bo Peep, what'd you see up there?" He pulled her collar up, protecting her from the steady drizzle.

"It doesn't look like anyone is home, but that doesn't mean someone isn't."

David readjusted his jacket, took Maddie's flashlight and put it back in her pocket. "Then we better get in…" he grabbed his black bag, "….and get out. Ready?"

"I guess, but how do you suppose we're going to get in, David? It's not like we can just waltz through the front door!" she whispered.

"Oh, how quickly you forget, Mademoiselle Hayes!" David reached inside his pants pocket and pulled out a small case containing different sizes of long thin pins.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, hands on hips.

"A good detective should never leave home without 'em, Maddie. Haven't you learned anything?" he mocked as they made their way to the front door.

"Yeah, that a little hokey pokey does _not_ a detective make…"

-0-0-0-

The house hadn't changed a whole lot, Maddie thought. The same style of furniture and décor, everything perfectly placed. David walked ahead of her down the dark hall. There was a door to her right and without seeing inside, she knew it was THE room she remembered: two nightstands on either side of the king-sized bed, lots of pillows and luxurious linens; at the time there had been pictures of her on one of the nightstands.

"Maddie?" David poked his head around the corner. "Come on, we may not have a lot of time here."

Pulled from her reverie, she followed him into the office and pulled her flashlight out. He was already going through file cabinets.

"Boy, this guy really has a tough job," David whispered, holding up a picture of a scantily clad girl, no older than twenty.

"David, put that away. We're here for one thing and one thing only," she chided.

She shined her light on the desktop and a small picture frame caught her eye.

"Whatcha got there?" David asked, joining her.

"She look familiar to you?"

"Yeah she does! That's the young one from the lingerie troop," David surmised, taking the picture from her. "So that's what she looks like with clothes on, huh?"

Maddie felt a cold shiver of recognition. She could only hope that the girl in the photo hadn't fallen for the Meclan charm.

"You okay?"

"Let's just find what we came for and get out of here."

She tugged on the desk drawers, only to find each of them locked. "David, let me borrow Mr. Stick Pin."

"What do you say?" David teased.

She snatched the little case with a growl.

"You want me to do it?"

"No David, I think –I-can-get…it," she muttered, pulling open a deep drawer full of files. She ran her light over the file folders, each with individual names, and thumbed through them. "B, C…F, G…." she whispered, David looking over her shoulder.

"H!" they exclaimed.

David reached over and pulled the folder out.

"Give me that!" She snatched it back.

"Maddie, jeez!"

Opening the large folder, she flipped through its contents. In the middle of it was an envelope attached to an 8x10 glossy print, Madeleine Hayes typed neatly on the front.

"Bingo!" David whispered.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Maddie and David jumped as the lights in the office came on. Meclan stood in the doorway. "Monsieur Addison…Madeleine. What a pleasant surprise. Find what you're looking for?" he asked, pointing to the photo.

Maddie kept her head high, doing her best to hold her ground as Meclan came closer. David stepped between them.

"I think we have," he intercepted, taking the picture and envelope from Maddie's trembling hands.

"David…" She felt her cheeks flush as his eyes settle on her picture. It was one, among others, the agency had shredded that day in the studio offices: her at eighteen, long hair flowing down her back and shoulders, face tilted seductively, covered –barely- with one of Meclan's soft sheets. She turned away, not wanting to see David's reaction.

"Yes, by the looks of you, it seems that you have, Addison," Meclan laughed.

David's jaw clenched as he handed her the envelope.

"So George, I'll be taking what is rightfully mine. Let's go, David." She raised her voice to be heard over her hammering heart.

"I'm sure, Madeleine, that we could come to...certain terms...perhaps a financial understanding? It is the American way, n'est-ce pas?" His eyes raked her over.

David grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him against the opposite wall. "Men like you make me sick, Meclan," he steamed. "How many others have there been, huh? What about that one there?" He nodded towards the picture of the young model they had recognized earlier. "You take your own little private session with her, too, you piece of sh—"

He pushed harder against him and landed a hard left punch to his gut. "No, no! That one…that one is my daughter!" Meclan choked.

"David!" Maddie yelled, grabbing his shoulder. He shrugged off her hand, but let Meclan be after one last hard shove.

"You're not even man enough to run an honorable business when you have the likes of her bringing in your paycheck every month. You're too stupid to see how lucky you are!" he seethed. He stepped away from Meclan, disdain dripping from his voice. "Let's go, Maddie."

"I could go to the authorities," Meclan declared, straightening himself. "Breaking into a man's home, stealing his property is against the law here, just as it is in the United States."

"Yeah, you could do that, George. But then you'd have to explain the contents of all those files you have stashed in that desk of yours. We can take pictures just as good as you can," David retorted, making a show of putting a small, hand-held pen light into the pocket of his coat. "It's amazing how well these little lenses pick up even the smallest details."

"Bye George. It's been anything but a pleasure," Maddie replied. Suddenly, she felt she couldn't get out of there fast enough.

David put his case of lock picks back in his bag and threw it over his shoulder. "Merci beaucoup... and toodle-oo!" David jeered with a wave, walking out the door.

Maddie turned for one last look. Meclan looked around his office and plopped in the chair at his desk. He picked up the picture of his daughter and wiped his sweaty brow. She hurried to catch up with David, hoping she would never have to see him again.

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**A/N: **Well, we're almost done, folks. Sure hope you've enjoyed the ride...reviews, as always, appreciated! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_Pont des Arts_

"Somehow, I thought it would be bigger."

"I warned you..." Maddie commented, as they meandered through the crowds pouring out of the Louvre. He followed her toward the pedestrian bridge, a wood-and-iron confection spanning the Seine. Today was their first real opportunity to sightsee, and Maddie apparently planned to take full advantage; there was a determined gleam in her eye that, he thought, probably boded ill for the soles of his loafers.

"I know...it's just that, after fighting through that forest of Nikons, you expect it to be—"

"Larger than life?" she finished, the corner of her mouth quirked up. "Well, the mysteries surrounding it certainly are: who was she? Why is she smiling? For my money, though, if you really want larger than life, you have to see the _David_."

"Why, thank you." He doffed an imaginary hat.

She punched his shoulder lightly. "Not _you_, David—THE David. By Michelangelo? Seventeen feet tall, long-limbed, perfectly sculpted, with massive hands and a huge—"

"Yeah," he smirked. "He coulda used me as a model."

"Ha! The _David_ doesn't have a hair on his body. Besides, what would _you_ have been doing in sixteenth-century Florence?"

"Aw, Blondie, you never know where I'm gonna show up."

Maddie pointed to the cool green river, rushing through the wide arches of the bridge. "I know where you're gonna _end_ up if you don't stop talking."

"Make me," he almost said, hoping she would shut him up with a well-placed kiss.

She leaned on the heavy black railing, curls blown back by the breeze. Damn. Her face still held the glow that the parade of Renoirs and Leonardos brought out in her. Standing in the cool marble galleries, he had watched her covertly, her fingers in the air, tracing the well-known lines of each one. He found himself only half-listening as she talked about brushstrokes and color and symbols, turning away from the priceless paintings to appreciate the living art right next to him.

Not that he was going to tell her that.

Now, though, as she turned her eyes to him, he could see she was troubled. "Were we right to turn him in, David? I mean, if those girls were of age—gave their consent—"

"But what if they _weren't_?" he interrupted. "And even if they were, you've still got your potential blackmail, coercion, fraud...Ol' Gorgeous George had a whole bunch of illegal moves he could've been making. We did the right thing, Maddie. Let the French feds figure it out."

She nodded. "I just hate to think of him in prison, for his daughter's sake. She's so young..."

David privately thought that rotting in the Bastille, if it still existed, would be just about what Meclan deserved. As it was, he would probably be sent to some minimum-security joint, with fresh croissants for his breakfast every morning.

"She'll be fine. Look at you—_you_ were fine. In fact, I'm starting to see how you got to be so bold and brassy."

For a minute, he thought he'd gone too far. Taking a cautious step back, he braced himself against the rail, just in case she had any recurrent thought of throwing him over. To his surprise, he felt cool lips brush his cheek. "I wanted to thank you, David."

"For what?"

"For standing up for me...and for not judging me. It wasn't easy—I hated being in that house again. I'm...I'm glad you were there."

Warmth spread through him like a shot of really good scotch. He had forgotten how good it felt—her needing him. A little seed of hope took root; for now, he brushed it aside, knowing he was still balanced on a knife edge.

"What's _un bon ami_ for, anyway?" Pulling her arm though his, he smiled. "C'mon, Goldilocks, what else have you got to show me? There better be some dancing girls on this tour somewhere..."

-0-0-0-

_Le Tour Eiffel_

The elevator was packed.

It was easy, under cover of the press of humanity, to rest his hand unobtrusively on her waist. Maddie raised one eyebrow at him as they shot up, up, up...but said nothing, only making a beeline for the outer observation deck when the doors finally opened.

"Why do people feel the need to build stuff this high?" he panted, when he caught up with her. He had lost a few seconds trying to extricate himself from the wheels of a particularly tenacious stroller.

She shrugged. "Maybe they like being able to see everything. Oh, look, David, there's Notre Dame!"

He squinted into the setting sun. "Lord of all you survey, huh? I don't know...I think _I'd_ build my castle on terra firma...some fields, coupla goats maybe—that'd be enough of a view for me."

Leaning over the balustrade, Maddie thrust a hand through the wide metal webbing that encircled the deck. "It's amazing—"

"Maddie!" he hissed, pulling her arm back to safety. She looked at him in surprise.

"David, what— Are you uncomfortable?"

"Me? Nah—I love it up here. The buildings—all those tiny cars—" Just then, a gust of wind blew through, and the tower swayed with it; he flattened himself against the glass of the interior viewing room.

"You are! You're—you're afraid of _heights_? How is that possible? I've seen you jump from rooftops...climb out on ledges…fight a guy up on billboard scaffolding…"

"Yeah, well...every one of those times I was too worried about _somebody else_ to think about plunging to my death!" he said, defensively.

Maddie shook her head, lips pressed tight against an imminent chuckle. "You think you know a person..."

The slight dizziness had passed now, and the deck felt fairly solid; he scrubbed his hair back and grinned a little sheepishly. "Always like to keep you on your toes."

She held out a hand, and they walked a circuit around the "troisième étage," as it was called. The first few lights blinked into the grey dusk. Maddie stopped by the railing; David stood behind her. "You have to admit," she commented, "Things look a lot simpler up here than they do on the ground."

"They sure do."

It wasn't just Paris he was seeing more clearly. He hadn't realized it at the time, but maybe this trip was what they both had needed—a chance to look at things differently. The painful memories they'd shared a few nights ago were still there, would always be there, but he no longer felt walled off, alone in his loss…and somehow, he knew she felt the same.

The sky was a vivid dark blue now, the city brilliant in gold and white. As if she could read his thoughts, Maddie spoke. "David? The other night...I'm glad nothing happened."

Disappointment fell heavily, straight to his gut. Had he misinterpreted her words on the bridge, her sighs, her looks..._again?_

"I'd hate to think I'd forgotten it."

His stomach flipped, this time with anticipation. He turned her around, searching her face. Yes, there was an invitation in her eyes - one he didn't hesitate to accept.

The grief-driven desperation that tainted their last kisses was gone. This kiss owed nothing to the past, but was a celebration of the present...a promise, perhaps, for the future. David lost himself in her, oblivious to the indulgent looks and occasional whistles; it felt like a long time until they came up for air.

There was a smattering of applause when they finally broke apart. Maddie glanced around, cheeks flushed pink. "David..."

A small, wizened hand patted his arm. David looked down; an elderly woman, blue hat perched on her gray curls, was beaming up at them. "Bénédictions—ah, good weeshes—sur votre marriage, mes chères."

Maddie, flustered, shook her head. "Mais non, madame. Nous ne sommes pas de se marier."

David wasn't sure exactly what she'd said, and for a moment, he had the mad urge to take the congratulations of a group of strangers as a sign from the heavens. Then—_Get a grip, Addison_, he thought. _Let's take things one step at time here._

Shrugging his shoulders, he smiled at the old woman. "Eh, keep 'em in your pocket, Maddie. You never know, they might come in handy sometime."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Thanks for all your great comments and support. Stay tuned for the epilogue!**


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Air France, Flight 867  
__CDG-LAX_

"Mesdames et messieurs, we will now dim the cabin lights and begin our first feature film. Complimentary headsets are located in the seat pocket in front of you."

Maddie glanced across at her partner. He had been asleep for the better part of an hour already; guess he wouldn't mind missing the movie. Collapsing her footrest, she reached into the seat pocket and pulled out the gray plastic headphones. As she plugged them in, a voice spoke low in her ear.

"Wanna neck?"

"David! I thought you were asleep," she hissed.

"Nah. I was just biding my time, waiting my chance…"

"Your chance to what?"

He flipped up the armrests between them and slid her over, close to the edge of her seat. Kissing her just below the ear, he answered, "Do you know how often we've been on a plane together, Maddie? And in all that time, not one little make-out session…no canoodling in the cabin, no smooching seven miles high…I don't want to miss another opportunity." He smiled winningly, and against her better judgment, she leaned over and kissed him.

Perhaps a little more thoroughly than she realized.

There was a loud _ahem!_ behind them. A harried-looking mother, blouse stained with juice, held one hand over the eyes of her young son. "Mom!" he protested. "It's no big deal—I see it on TV all the time!"

"Sorry," Maddie mouthed at the woman, and slid down in her seat, cheeks burning.

David tossed a dollar bill to the boy over the back of his seat. "Here ya go, sonny—see if you can fold that into an elephant." He turned back to Maddie. "Now…where were we?"

"How is this going to work, David?" she sighed.

"Well, we could punch the flight attendant button, and when they come to see what's wrong, we sneak into the galley…or there's always the bathroom, but that's so cliché—"

"Not what I meant." The look she gave him extinguished the twinkle in his eyes as though she'd flipped a switch.

He checked his watch. "Huh—I didn't think we were crossing the International Date Line…but here we are, back in 1987!"

She sat back, stung. _That_ wasn't what she meant, either. Of course this was different from last time. After all they'd been through—separately and together—it had to be…didn't it?

David must have sensed her reaction; his tone softened. "Do you _want_ this to work?"

If he had asked that question two years ago, the answer would have been no. He hadn't _needed_ to ask, then; she had thrown up enough roadblocks to make it obvious. And up until ten days ago, she was pretty convinced she'd been right all along—that she simply didn't have the strength to deal with the maelstrom of emotion that was the hallmark of loving David.

But now?

Images of the last few days played in her mind: walking along the Seine, lighting a candle in Notre Dame, toasting each other at the only Irish pub in Paris. The movie they'd seen at the Pompidou, an American comedy horribly dubbed in French. The Jerry Lewis coaster set David found for Bert at a flea market. And, of course, their kiss at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

She couldn't remember ever feeling so comfortable with David, able to accept—and return—his affection without fear or doubt. Whatever had been broken in her was healing; she supposed, in a roundabout way, she was indebted to Meclan for that.

Taking David's hand, she pressed it to her cheek. "Yes, I do want it to work," she declared quietly. "I do...I just wonder whether...when we get home, all this will suddenly seem complicated again."

"Ah - you're worried about the Paris Effect?" he smiled. "Not gonna happen."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Have you _seen_ the ratings for the fifth season? People are sick of all this back-and-forth, where-is-the-relationship-going nonsense. No way—_they_ want us together, _I_ want us together, and, hail and hallelujah, _you_ want us together. So together we'll be."

"OK...but maybe we should set some ground rules."

"Madolyn Hayes, I swear to you that if you say the word 'pact,' I will open this Emergency Exit. And may I remind you, you are _not_ wearing a parachute."

She couldn't help but laugh at the fierce expression on his face. "No—not that kind of rule. More along the lines of…no 'canoodling,' as you call it, in the office. Before five," she amended.

"Aw, c'mon, Blondie—no canoodling? Not even a little? Just an 'oodle'?" He fluttered his eyelashes beguilingly.

"_Shhh!_" said the woman behind them.

Maddie rolled her eyes and whispered, "Let's just watch the movie. We can work out the details later."

Nestled with David under the blanket, she watched Leslie Caron jump into Gene Kelly's arms and smiled. _Thank you, Paris._

_It's very clear_  
_Our love is here to stay;_  
_Not for a year_  
_But ever and a day._

_The radio and the telephone_  
_And the movies that we know_  
_May just be passing fancies,_  
_And in time may go!_

_But, oh my dear,_  
_Our love is here to stay._  
_Together we're_  
_Going a long, long way_

_In time the Rockies may crumble,_  
_Gibraltar may tumble,_  
_They're only made of clay,_  
_But our love is here to stay.  
-George Gershwin _

**THE END**

**Acknowledgements:**

From **GR**: Well, this has just been great great—hope you've enjoyed the reading as much as I have the writing. Thanks so much to all of you who hung in there and inspired us with reviews and support!

And my undying gratitude to my partner-in-crime, **beesnbears**: Honey, this story wouldn't have made it out of Chapter Two if it hadn't been for you…working together was a sweet treat—can't wait to do it again!

From **bees**: Thanks for letting me tag along. It's been a pleasure being your partner, partner! I'm thinking Encore 2012...Location yet to be determined... ;)


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